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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599099">You Don’t Belong With Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirithAriel/pseuds/FirithAriel'>FirithAriel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sub!Tom and his Mistress [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blindfolds, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, light fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:28:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirithAriel/pseuds/FirithAriel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Tom have been getting to know eachother a lot better.<br/>What you are about to discover, forces you to rethink your entire relationship and what you both want from it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Hiddleston/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sub!Tom and his Mistress [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Don’t Belong With Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>all those who catch the title reference, get a sexy Loki pic.<br/><a href="https://www.gq.com/story/tom-hiddleston-cover-profile">THIS</a> is the article referenced in the story, and it’s a clue about the title too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The pressure of your thighs around his waist was slacking, denoting the fatigue that was taking over your body. You had already orgasmed twice, and you still had to come one more time before Tom would follow. It had been his idea, he just wanted to know how much he could hold back and three seemed a fairly easy number. He didn't count, however, on how hard you were going to make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could an object as simple as a blindfold do the trick? Tom didn’t think much of it, until you wrapped the cloth over his eyes, sat him against the headboard of his bed, and straddled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without his eyes to distract him, all his other senses were heightened. He was suddenly very aware of your scent, and the sounds you made with each roll of his hips. His hands could feel the slight difference in temperature on your skin. Mostly, it made him very aware of how warm and wet your pussy felt around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took a moment to breathe and adjust your posture. Tom growled with the friction, and you giggled in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing?” you asked him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amazing…” he said breathily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You put your forehead on his shoulder as he splayed his hands on your back to pull you even closer. Tom was always very handsy, but now the blindfold had increased his need to touch. He hadn’t stopped exploring your body, as if he was making up for not being able to see you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You kissed a path up his neck, rubbing the back of his head with your nails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you were going to hold it,” you said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither did I,” he admitted with a deep sigh. “Only one more to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You kissed his smile. “Would you like me to remove the blindfold? As a treat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom was about to say yes, but hesitated. He had barely stopped himself from coming twice thanks to the effect being blindfolded had on him. Now, he would be able to come. Would it feel different? Better? More intense? Only one way to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No…” Tom shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but -” You slowly lifted your hips, making him slide out. Tom groaned loudly, his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep you close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom, my legs are twitching,” you said with a giggle. “I'm just going to roll us over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pushed the pillows aside and laid on the bed. Holding his hands, you guided him on top of you and he felt his way around your body. One hand stopped on your chin, the other on one of your thighs. Settling between your legs, he rubbed himself against you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” he breathed on your mouth, the tip of his cock already poking your entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom didn’t need anything else. In one fluid motion he sheathed inside of you. You moaned loudly and threw your head back, allowing Tom to bury his face on your neck. Both his hands were now on your hips, keeping you still while he thrust and rolled his hips. Curses echoed around the room, joining the sharp sound of skin against skin. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles on his back, and clawed his shoulder, holding on for dear life as he quite literally fucked you into the mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So close…” you whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are- are you- </span>
  <em>
    <span>please…</span>
  </em>
  <span> can I?” Tom stammered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One last quivering thrust pushed you over the edge. A wave of heat rolled inside every nerve in your body, your nails left dents on his back as you came screaming. Tom let out a high pitched whimper, and you knew he was coming too. Keeping the blindfold on had been an excellent idea. All he could focus on was how your walls closed and fluttered around his twitching cock and he quickly decided this one of the best orgasms he’d ever had. Almost, because there was still a layer of latex in between that neither of you was ready to get rid of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes passed before your breath came back to normal, and the physical strain of the past hour was making itself known. You detangled your limbs off his body and reached for the back of his head to pull the blindfold off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom squinted and blinked, getting used to the dim light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there,” you said with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long time no see,” he said, staring at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed at his cheesy joke. He cupped your face and kissed you, slowly, deeply, taking away the little breath you had. You pushed on his shoulder to get him off you and rolled on your side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d make a great sub, you know?” you casually commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A submissive,” you said. “You probably didn’t notice but you asked me for permission to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom wrinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. “I noticed, but I didn’t do it on purpose. It sort of came out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” You traced his bottom lip with your thumb. “A sub.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would that make you?” he asked, drawing figures on your arm with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A domme, which I was -” You shook your head. “It’s been a while since I’ve been a domme to anyone though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Domme? As in dominatrix? Whips and chains and all that stuff?" Tom’s cheeks went pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a crude approach, but kind of,” you said. “It’s more about control. Whips and chains only reinforce it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several images flashed in Tom’s head and he could feel not only his cheeks burning, but also his groin. It reminded him that he had yet to clean up. Taking advantage of the distraction, you rolled on your back and tried to get up. But his arm wrapped around your waist stopped you, and made you face him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You gulped hard. It had become increasingly more difficult to say no and extricate yourself from that bed. But you knew that if you gave in once, you’d give in everytime. You didn’t say anything, and pushed his chest. Tom didn’t fight it, though the disappointed groan was loud enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first night you had sex was the only time you’d let Tom stay over. After that, you made a point not to stay at his house and not let him stay at yours. It was your way of keeping enough distance, for this not to be more than a hook-up. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You both got cleaned and dressed quietly. Tom called an uber for you and walked you to the door. He was still frowning, not bothering with hiding his contempt for your refusal to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give me that look,” you said, putting your coat on. “I’ve told you why I don’t -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he interrupted you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many unspoken words filled the awkward silence. Tom didn’t want you to leave with all that tension. He took your hand and pulled you close, adjusting the scarf around your neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you next week, probably,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Probably,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you repeated, managing a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’d be seeing a lot of each other next week. Tom smiled and kissed your hand, opening the door for you.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following days were routine. Tom would send you a few texts during the day, sometimes a funny picture if he thought you were bored or stressed. You half expected him to ask questions about the domme thing you mentioned, but so far he hadn’t. Not directly at least, cause you still noticed the sublte changes in his behavior while having sex. He let you lead him, and paid close attention to how you responded to everything he did, as if he was trying to learn how to please you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe soon he’d be up to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>play</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were coming back to your office after a business lunch when your phone chirped the distinct sound you had selected for Tom. Smiling to yourself, you read the text he had sent and replied immediately, agreeing to meet him after work. It wasn’t very often that he asked you out for tea or ice cream, and it was nice to spend time with him, other than in bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before blocking the phone, you noticed there was a notification from your news feed. You slid it down to check if it was of any interest only to see Tom himself on your screen, wearing a brown suit and a smile, looking as delightful as ever. The title</span>
  <em>
    <span> “We &lt;3 T.H.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> in bold letters covered the bottom half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wondered if that was the interview he had done a few weeks earlier. A bit about a “mystery brunette” had come out in the press and Tom told you she was a journalist. You remembered him acting very strange for a couple of days after that, but you shrugged it off and things came back to normal fast enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> was at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tom! Hiddleston! Loves! This! Bolognese! </span>
  </em>
  <span>the article started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed, having seen Tom make his version of bolognese and eaten it a few times. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course that’s yet another of his party tricks.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The interview continued with a warm and truthful description of his animated and quirky persona. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leave it to him to charm everyone he even looks at.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Descriptions of his endearing excitement at the simplest things, his love for movies, for plays, for his fellow actors. You could see Tom's face in your head, talking with the enthusiasm described on the page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as you read on, you didn’t laugh anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I mean, this happens, right? Beautiful people fall in love, don’t they? And these two made a kind of sense: They were similarly earnest and pale and high-rise and shiny. He had that James Dean daydream look in his eyes; she got his heart racing in her skintight jeans. Can we leave room for the notion that they fell in love?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren't one to have interests on tabloids or celebrity gossip, but that one had been way too hard to avoid, and after you met him you had done some - </span>
  <em>
    <span>research</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it. He, on the other hand, had barely mentioned it. Part of you wanted to ask, in those fleeting moments when you could see signs of sadness, and perhaps regret. But they were gone and forgotten by the time you were in bed. Why would you ruin the mood then?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"She’s generous and kind and lovely, and we had the best time.” But I didn’t ask that, I say. I asked something else. So I wait, and he says, “Of course it was real.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In your head, you had played the PR Stunt theory to be plausible, but now you knew he wasn’t lying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course it was real.”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wearing his heart on his sleeve (or on a shirt) was part of his nature, and it had brought him problems before. This time hadn’t been different.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I sit back down and we talk some more because I finally understand that he isn’t here as someone who needs to explain his side in a PR battle; he’s here as someone who is still crushed by the end of a relationship.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Things you had forced yourself to ignore fell into place, making so much sense now that you looked at them in hindsight. Your mouth went dry and a tightness set on the pit of your stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We talk about how relationships go sideways, how the ripples of a breakup can still pin you to a wall even months later. We talk about heartache. We talk about sadness and healing. We talk about what it’s like to love and what happens when the object of that love withdraws but all your love is still there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You had read </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>For two hours you completely reevaluated your relationship and tried to figure out what to do next. Of course the logical thing was to end everything; easier said than done. Everything inside of you wanted to hold on, to give it a little more time. But in order to regain the control you didn’t realize you’d lost, all those little details that kept giving you the false sense of commitment had to stop. The texting, the dinners, the pictures… gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You arrived at the ice cream parlor and spotted Tom on a table outside. He made a hand gesture and you went to get a shake before sitting with him. The smile you forced was too weak and Tom saw right through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rough day?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could say that,” you answered vaguely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom tried to grab your hand, but you swiftly moved it, and grabbed your cup instead. It kind of threw him off. He put both his hands on the table and looked at you, making himself available to listen to whatever you wanted to share.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only you knew where to start… No matter what, you had the strong feeling you’d end up with a broken heart. Then the right question was the obvious one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom,” you started. “What are we doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization hit him like a wrecking ball. “You read the interview, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wanted to lie and say no, but Tom kept his piercing stare fixed on you. “I did…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to speak, but you stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t -” You rubbed your face. “The night we met - you were barely out of a very short, very complicated, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> publicized relationship.” You made a pause to look around. “I’m absolutely sure we are being watched as we speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom looked down and rubbed his fingers. “Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever made you talk to me that night… It’s clear that you have issues you haven’t solved yet.” You crossed your arms on your chest and breathed deeply. “What I mean is - I'm not going to be your rebound,” you stated, and he looked at you. “We can have fun, but that’s it. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom studied your face. You were right, he didn’t even know if he wanted another relationship, but he did enjoy your company. And the sex. Of course he had engaged in casual sex before, but he was used to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>wooing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It never occurred to him that you might </span>
  <em>
    <span>not need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be wooed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need this,” you continued, gesturing around. “It would save us both a lot of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And heartache.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, no more </span>
  <em>
    <span>dates</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You half smiled. “Are these </span>
  <em>
    <span>dates</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more ‘dates’ then.” You added air quotes to the word. “No more dinners, no more pubs, no more random messages… a few texts will suffice to know if we’re free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels so -” Tom leaned back on the chair and bit his lower lip out of habit. “- depersonalized.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was. Distancing yourself from him like this was the only way your expectations were going to disappear, without actually calling things off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reasons you had given him were enough for him too. Tom couldn’t even go to the store without a legion of paps hiding behind every bush in his path. You didn’t want the exposure, you didn’t want the gossip and speculation that made his previous relationship burn as fast as it had started. Tom knew you were also right in saying he still had to deal with the aftermath on a personal level, and it would be unfair of him to drag you along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, he didn’t want to lose you. If you were willing to meet him in the middle, he was going to play by your terms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom took a deep breath as he watched you sip the last of your shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nearly laughed. “Saturday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My place or yours?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first it was kind of weird not hearing Tom’s ringtone every day, but after a couple of weeks you fell into a very strange routine. Either Thursday or Friday, one of you would text the other, and a day would be settled for you to meet at Tom’s house. It was a conscious decision on your part not to have him over anymore, but you didn’t discuss it with him. He caught on it, as you knew he would, but was smart enough not to mention it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t expect to see his name flashing on the phone screen on a Monday afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi. Can you meet me at the cafe on the corner? You know which one I mean,” his voice sounded strained. “I need to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we had agreed on no dates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not for pillow talk,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your heart went up to your throat. “Okay, give me fifteen minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was waiting for you on your usual table, and had already ordered tea. Once you got settled and had your mug in hand, he got straight to the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving,” he said. “Work related. We’re filming in Canada.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words sank like a shard of ice down your throat. “For how long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three months, maybe more.” Tom tapped his fingers on the table. “I felt it was wrong to leave without telling you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very considerate, thank you.” You bit your lip. “This is it then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably for the best,” he said dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had to force yourself to look at him. Deep down inside you knew it wasn’t okay. But you weren’t in a position to let that show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I guess we -” You clicked your nails against the mug. “When are you leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nodded, grabbing the mug to keep your shaking hands occupied on something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You both started talking at the same time and broke off when you’d realized it. Tom bit his lip and looked away. You stared into your tea and tried to think of something to say. You sucked in a breath and put your teacup down very decidedly. It was time to pull the damn band-aid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it's been fun.” The smile you gave him was tight and you tried to assume an air of disinterest, as if your heart wasn’t splitting in half.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It felt wrong to reduce whatever had been going on between you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But what else could you do? You had said it yourself, you were willing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everything else was collateral damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom toyed with his napkin, rubbing it between his fingers. He finally looked back at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe when I get back-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You interrupted him, “Maybe not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Tom got up to get a to-go cup for his untouched drink and paid the bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You quickly finished your own mug and stood up as well. Tom, ever the gentleman, tried to help you put on your coat, but you brushed his hands aside and headed for the door. You let him open it for you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye Tom.” You turned and walked quickly down the street to the underground, barely hearing his </span>
  <em>
    <span>“goodbye”</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For two days you stared at the phone. You didn’t really know what you expected. To see a message? For him to call you? Gather the courage to call him yourself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of that would happen, but that didn’t keep you from hoping. To the last minute, when you knew he was in his living room with his suitcase, waiting to get picked up. You dropped the phone on your nightstand and got ready for bed, but you couldn’t sleep. You kept looking at the time, guessing where he was at that moment, until you knew his plane was about to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You fell asleep with his number still shining on the screen.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To all my sub!Tom fans: This is an immediate follow up to Fire Meet Gasoline and would technically be "chapter 2" of their story. The series is being written out of order, cause I just add whatever scene comes to my head. I wanted to give them a beginning though, hence why these exist.</p><p>As always, feedback is always appreciated!<br/>Requests are open on <a href="http://fadingfics.tumblr.com/">my Tumblr</a>!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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